


Skin Potion

by NoelBlue



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Licking, M/M, Male Slash, Tattoo, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelBlue/pseuds/NoelBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke offers Fenris some fine Tevinter wine for the chance at another taste of his tattoos. Fenris puts up token resistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Potion

**Author's Note:**

> First of two different Fenris tattoo licking fics, because obviously I was on a roll.

Hawke walked in and placed 4 bottles of wine on the table, their clinking rousing Fenris from the book he was reading.

He furrowed his dark brows, and leaned forward. "What's this?"

Hawke smiled, and that grin's sharp edges made Fenris nervous. "Payment."

"Payment?" Fenris asked, turning his book over and reaching forward to pick up one of the bottles and examine the label. He made a quiet sound of consideration. They were of rare vintage and from old, storied vineyards; it was the type of wine Danarius drank with his fellow magisters after a long day of doing something particularly loathsome. "These are excellent, but I'm still confused. I was paid for our last excursion. What would-" He looked up to see Hawke watching him closely. Watching his neck closely, to be exact.

He pushed back from the wine as if hit by chain lightening, and quickly stood. "No." He turned and chopped his hand violently through the air. "No, no, no, you bloody mage. You may not. Not again."

Hawke leaned his staff against the wall and sat down. He held out his hands and composed his face in an expression of uncharacteristic innocence. "Why not? You enjoyed it immensely, if I remember correctly."

"I was drunk. Very drunk."

"You weren't that drunk. We had, what, 3 bottles between the two of us? We've done far worse damage than that before, and you've still been standing and speaking normally." He took off his gloves, and laid his chin in his hands. "Just one taste, Fenris."

Fenris was silent for a moment. "I'm not sure I even remembered what happened," he said. His voice was quiet and uncertain. His hands wrung, and he couldn't meet Hawke's gaze.

The other man lifted an eyebrow, as if he was well aware Fenris was lying, and stood. He walked up to the elf and gently took his hand; Fenris did not resist, although he did turn his face away.

Lifting one olive hand to his mouth, he gently kissed the tips of Fenris' fingers.

Then he flicked his tongue out and ran it along one lyrium etched digit, concentrating on the perfect line of shimmering white.

Fenris made a guttural noise.

"If you don't like it," Hawke whispered into Fenris' flesh, dancing his fingers upon the palm of the hand he held, "I will stop instantly. The wine is yours regardless. But if you let me continue-" He ran his finger up the whole of Fenris' arm, tracing, until his tattoos hit the barrier of his leather clothing. "I'll go very, very slowly."

"You'll stop if I ask?" Fenris was uncertain, nervous. The last time had been muddled by a haze of alcohol, and he had been very embarrassed besides.

But Hawke was right; he did indeed remember it very well. They had just finished that third bottle, and were discussing Bianca and Varric in some silly, childish way. They were at the table in Hawke's mansion, next to each other at an angle with the wine before them.

Then the mage had leaned forward without warning, fast as a snake, and licked him softly underneath his lips right where his tattoo started its long journey downwards. The light sheen of moisture had tingled on his skin, and Fenris had been so stunned he had been unable to do more than stare at his friend.

Hawke had then touched his chin with his fingers and tilted the elf's head. "I have wanted to do that for so long," he had said, his gaze deadly serious, "may I continue?"

Fenris had hesitated but also didn't jerk his head away. Hawke took this as a 'yes', and leaned in, his lips traveling down the lines over his throat, licking at the bump there and following all the fork and threads that danced at angles away from the central stalk. He lifted both hands to trace the outside lines, running them with pressure and a noise of pleasure that had Fenris' fingers clutching at the table top.

He was unsure how long that continued before the Mabari had padded into the room, toenails clicking and tongue lolling, and Hawke had lifted his head. Fenris remembered only that he left, quickly, fleeing home to touch himself in the privacy of his broken down mansion.

They hadn't spoken of it for the last two weeks, for which he had been both grateful and strangely, unsettlingly angry. In time Fenris had decided it was simply the alcohol breaking down his reflexes. He certainly hadn't enjoyed it, not at all.

But now Hawke's fingers were undoing his jerkin, opening each clasp one-by-one and then pushing it off him so it fell to the floor, and this time he was completely sober. And yet his skin was hot as if he was very drunk, burning, and watching Hawke's dark head slip down his chest to right above his pants wasn't helping.

"Mmm, you taste like sweat and potions," Hawke said in a purr, kissing then running his mouth upwards on the path of the tattoo that ran up the right side of Fenris' chest. "Sex and magic…"

"I am no lyrium potion for you to slurp, mage," Fenris growled, but his hand found itself buried in Hawke's thick, dark hair, willing Hawke to go faster because his slow pace was making him ache.

Hawke chuckled, and stopped to lick lovingly at the marks around his nipple, his hand holding tightly at Fenris' left thigh. He kept dipping lower, close to the edge of Fenris' pants, but never touched the elf's straining cock.

Clutching tighter at Hawke's hair Fenris reached and undid the lacing of his trousers, pulling himself out with a groan. He closed his eyes and rubbed himself as Hawke stood up to kiss his shoulders then move laterally across his chest. He felt the other man reach into his own trousers, and felt the rhythm of Hawke's hand as his tongue flickered.

"Fenris…" Hawke breathed into his neck, the name rustling his white hair, and Fenris came first with a curse, jerking as Hawke held his neck tight and buried his nose in his skin, coming himself. Their cum mingled, warm on Fenris' stomach.

Hawke still held him, and he could feel the smile on the mage's lips. "Thank you," he said, and then licked at the bottom of Fenris' ear before pulling back, easily dodging the swat aimed at his head.

Fenris turned to cover up the flush on his face, and reached for a rag to clean himself up. "I have earned my wine, I think."

"You have indeed; I know it's a lot to put up with." He appreciated that Hawke didn't sound mocking, because if he had Fenris would have tried harder to hit him. He heard Hawke pick up his staff and start to move towards the door. Then the footsteps stopped.

"Fenris… I have a few more bottles of those, and I know how quickly you go through wine. Would you like me to bring them by next week?"

Fenris shrugged, and chewed on the inside of his cheeks. He then hooked a finger in the top of his pants, nonchalantly pulling them down an inch to show the beginning of the tattoos that ran down his legs. "If you'd like."

There was the distinct sound breath inhaled, then a soft laugh. "Far, far tastier than any lyrium potion, my friend."

"Bloody demon-spawn magic-using scum," Fenris snarled, and Hawke's laughter lingered long after he'd shut the door behind him.


End file.
